


An Exchange of Sonnets: Love Poems Between the Ladies Stark & Tyrell

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, game of thrones
Genre: F/F, love poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 02:35:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2133888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More than just a collection of poems, the following series of sonnets represents a correspondence between Sansa Stark and Margaery Tyrell, and draws a little narrative that goes from heartfelt and tender, to funny and sexy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Rose From Heaven's Reach:  From Lady Stark to Lady Tyrell

I plucked a blushing rose from heaven’s Reach,  
(a reach that more than half exceeds its grasp)  
and held its petals, pressed them each to each,  
and brought them to my lips and heard them gasp.

I plucked a perfect rose from heaven’s Reach,  
to plant it inbetween my tender breasts  
and there took root and grew till it beseeched  
that I might let it grow round all the rest.

Intoxicating with its soft perfume,  
its subtle pleasures overtook my heart;  
I kissed it in the darkness of my room,  
then hastily in darkness would depart.

O secret rose that grew between the stones  
And did o’erperch my walls at my request,  
With such light sweetness wound around my bones,  
and whispered, “I chose you from all the rest.”

And in my fond remembrance now I see,  
The sunlight-dappled rose was plucking me.


	2. Lady Tyrell's Untitled Reply

If you were the rose I would pluck thee and gladly,  
Just tell me the where and the how of the deed.  
I’d pluck thee with love, whispered truly and madly,  
til, tenderly, all of thy sighing was freed.

With delicate fingers I’d pluck thee by moonlight,  
your stems being soft as the breath of a babe;  
Or perhaps I should pluck with my teeth, in the sunlight,  
Two times or fifty, in the cool of the shade.

If you were the gardener and I were the rose,  
I’d wish to be plucked by you time and again;  
such work requires practice as everyone knows,  
and I’d have you be better than the best of the men.

But if we both be roses, there’s naught we can do,  
but pluck one another til the plucking is through.


	3. My Unserious Lady:  from Lady Stark to Lady Tyrell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Stark responds to Lady Margaery’s terribly suggestive sonnet. At first she appears to scold her for replying with such playful flirtation when Lady Stark is trying to pour her heart out. Ah, but then, like any proper sonnet, comes the volta.

I opened up my jewel-box heart for thee,  
And strung its sparkling contents on these lines,  
To rest upon that pretty breast of thine,  
The closest to thy heart that they could be.  
But my lady wears these jewels unseriously,  
And flirts and jests while I would sigh and pine,  
As though her kisses has not soothed my mind,  
Her words dress simple lust in poetry.

But ah, those words! I drank them with my eyes,  
Til I could feel the mingling of our mouths,  
Until a blush crept underneath my clothes.  
A clever maiden takes what might arise,  
And tends whatever interests are aroused-  
To wit, among my skills: “arouse a rose.”


	4. In the Garden of Verses:  From Lady Tyrell to Lady Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything in Lady Stark's previous sonnet was more sophisticated; from the form and structure, to the wordplay, to the flirtation. Lady Tyrell holds nothing back.

Unaware, it would seem, of the manner in which she delights me,  
my lady would send me a sonnet to rouse my affections.  
But the beautiful words are of too sweet and coy a complexion,  
and the chance of a misunderstanding, it desperately frights me!  
So frighted, by faith, that I tremble —- I jest —- she excites me.  
For her pale skin and long russet hair, are so far past perfection,  
And her lips and her skin and her sex are a honeyed confection;  
I should think no pynade on my tongue ever melted so nicely.

So my lady she sends me a sonnet, compares me to roses;  
And although it is easier picking a rose with one’s fingers,  
In the garden of verses, with stanzas, she doth mean to pluck me;  
And the thought of my petals adorn all the words she composes.  
and o how the coyness and lovely distraction, it lingers —  
But if I might speak from my heart, I’d prefer if she’d fuck me.


	5. Come to My Chambers at Midnight:  From Lady Stark to Lady Tyrell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This final writing consisted of only the following couplet:

With the very thought of it, I am intoxicated.  
Don’t be late _;_ don’t wear something complicated.


End file.
